The Cigar
by polkadotboat
Summary: Brigette Johnson's lived in LA her entire life. She went through many ups and downs living under the spotlight of the paparazzi because of her father's successful business, but then her mother is murdered. The only trace to the killer leads her to Ouran Academy. She needs to find her mother's killer, but will she be able to when Kyoya Oturi stands in the way? Host Club OC
1. Chapter 1

"It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace." Chuck Palahniuk. My mother used to tell me this often, after she married my father. I sighed and leaned back into the cushions, trying to find someplace to sit that was comfortable. I'd always find one, and then I'd have to move. It'd be uncomfortable again. 'Why can't peace come easily?' I thought.

I closed my eyes and pricked a note on my guitar, letting it ring into the air and fade. Then I'd play another one. And the cycle went on. At least I never grew tired of this.

My father knocked on the door and I jumped, my eyes snapping open. "Brigette?"

"Yeah?"

"Your uncle's here. He wants to see you."

Normally when I heard those words, I would smile, but I didn't think I could smile right then. Chuck Palahniuk is right. It's nearly impossible to forget pain. But he was wrong about happiness. I could remember every happy moment with my mother, and each memory cut me deeper.

I lay my guitar carefully on the ground and followed my father out the door and down the hall to his office. My uncle was trying so hard to hide his tears, but when he saw me, they began to fall. He ran to embrace me. I gripped his shirt and he pressed his hand against the back of my auburn curls.

He cupped my face. "We're going to be okay. It's what your mother would have wanted."

I bit my lip and smiled sadly, nodding. "I know, Uncle." He hugged me again.

"Oh, when did you get so grown up?" He pulled away and squeezed my shoulders. "Last time I saw you, you were this tall!" he gestured to his hip.

"Undoubtedly, people will be coming over. Put on a good face. We all have a long day ahead of us. Go relax for a while Bridgette before the people come." My father ordered.

I nodded and went, glad to leave the impending glare of my father and closed the door to my room, sighing.

I squeezed my eyes shut, yelling at myself in my head.

"Where are the tears?" I asked myself.

I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to force them to fall. None came.

I loved my mother so much. I'm heartbroken without her. 'Where are those damn tears?' I asked again.

I heard car doors slam shut outside. And I ran to the window. There was a white van and a camera crew spilled out. I ran from the room and down the stairs past my father.

"Brigette! Stop!" My father swore, running after me.

The door rang and I whipped it open, my father following closely behind. He smiled once he was in view of the cameras, putting on a 'good face'.

"Brigette Johnson? How do you feel about you mother's death? How was she killed? Mr. Johnson? Are you still hosting the benefit concert without your wife?"

My father smiled and tried to sidestep in front of me.

"Of course, for my wife, the benefit concert will be tonight— ."

"We have no comment." I stepped from my door and cameras flashed all around me. "And get your damn car and your damn cameras off this property or I'm calling the cops!"

I slammed the door.

"Brigette!" My father instantly yelled. "This family has a reputation to uphold and the people need to see us handling this well—."

"Is that all you care about? How you look? I know that's why you married Mom in the first place! You didn't want this lovechild to get out to the public, so you married my mom like the good 'family man'."

"Watch your tongue, young lady! One more word and you're not seeing your friends again."

"You don't have the right to tell me what to do anymore! Mom was the only reason I ever listened to you! She's gone!"

"Brigette!" another voice boomed across the house. I looked at my uncle at the top of the staircase. "You've said enough. You've gotten your point across. Your mother's death is hard on all of us."

"You mean two of us." I mumbled under my breath. I glared at my father for a moment before pushing past him climbing the stairs.

Uncle embraced me and then I went into my room again.

After a few moments, my father walked past my room. "Look what I have to clean up because of that little girl!"

I began to continue my process with the guitar, but instead playing chords, going from deep to high and then back again. The doorbell rang again, so I got up and turned the lock on my bedroom door. I can't keep them away from my house, but at least I can keep them away from _me_.

I heard my father's deep voice as he greeted the unknown guest. I glanced out the window, but the car was a limo, so I couldn't guess who it was. There were many limos that ended up parked in front of this house.

The doorbell rang again and again and soon more people came. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would have to show my face. I touched up my makeup, pinned my hair back, and opened the door.

The ground floor was buzzing with voices, most of them soft and comforting. I walked up to the banister and saw my father with his head bowed in fake pain while one of his coworkers patted his back. I turned around. There was no _way_ I was going to put on a 'good face' for a bunch of my father's 'friends'.

I went down the back stairs and escaped through the basement. The cool air hit me and I inhaled deeply, reveling in the pleasure of being outside that house.

"Where to, miss?" the chauffeur asked when I approached the car.

"The studio."

He nodded and pulled the car out of the driveway.

_I walk a lonely road_

_The only one that I have ever known_

_Don't know where it goes_

_But it's home to me and I walk alone_

My hands ran across the keys of the piano as I played. I sang, the microphone turned off and barely whispering the words, but it felt good to sing.

_I walk this empty street_

_On the boulevard of broken dreams_

_When the city sleeps_

_And I'm the only one and I walk alone_

I played an incomprehensible note and lay my head against the piano. My eyes closed and suddenly I was very dreary.

"That's not a very happy song."

I didn't move, not wanting to move because I already knew who it was. "I'm not a very happy person."

"Your father asked me to come pick you up. The chauffeur told us where you were." My uncle placed his hand on my back. "Let's go. Everyone's gone at the house."

"And he couldn't come himself? He knows damn well that he owes me an apology."

"As do you." I followed him back out to the car. "Your father has what's best for you in mind. He cares about you."

_You don't know him like I do, Uncle_, I thought. But instead, I smiled and said, "I know, Uncle. I'll apologize when I get home."

Inside, though, I was seething. He doesn't have any right to tell me to apologize. I meant every word of what I said. I hadn't anything to apologize for!

"I'm sorry." I practically spat. Fortunately, he didn't catch it.

"As you should be. You're lucky I was able to pay off the press to burn the story. I had to cancel the benefit concert because of you. Now leave. Let me work." He hadn't even looked up from his desk.

"I would rather the story aired, so the whole world can see how heartless you are!"

"You don't mean that. You're just rebelling because your mother died."

"She was your wife, too!" I yelled.

"Get out. _Now." _He stood up, glaring at me. I held his gaze for a moment before leaving and slamming the door.

Anger boiled inside me as I ran down the stairs.

"How did it go?" My uncle asked, but I brushed him off.

I went straight to my father's record room. He owned and founded the studio that I recorded at, and kept all of the first albums of his musicians as tokens.

I stared at the wall, looking at all of them. He prized these records. I picked up the first one.

I didn't want to do it, but at the same time I did.

_Snap!_ My hands acted of their own accord after that. The first one was an accident. I was so nervous that I was squeezing the record so tight that it snapped without me realizing it. But after that, I broke. I ripped the records from the wall and broke then, then tore to cover art in half.

He didn't even care about us. He's heartless! He probably is glad she's dead! He's probably planning my death too! I accused.

The records were finished. I looked at the wreckage on the ground, panting, out of breath. One last thing in this room. I looked over at the plaque hanging from the wall. It had a light shining on it to illuminate his accomplishment. The plaque sat, glaring at me from its frame.

I picked it up, staring at it. Then, with a small yell, I threw it against the wall. I heard a satisfactory shatter of glass as it fell to the ground.

"What did you do?" My father yelled when he appeared in the doorway. He stared at his former trophy room in utter shock. "Brigette, you little—" He stopped himself. "Damn it. Get to your room right now! You're not coming out until you pay for what you did!" He screamed.

I ran upstairs, a little bit afraid of the person he became when he saw what I did. I was a little afraid of myself when I looked back at the wreckage, but the look in his eye. It looked like he was going to kill me, right then.

I ran past my uncle, who was just coming to see what happened. I didn't say anything, and he didn't stop me. He understood when he saw my father's expression.

"Don't you dare ever come out!" He yelled again.

I slammed the door. I exhaled, trying to catch my breath. I leaned back on the door.

"You aren't helping by yelling at her." My uncle said.

"You're saying this is my fault?" He exclaimed.

"Her mother just _died._ She needs you now more than ever, and you're surrounding yourself with coworkers and strangers. She's at her most vulnerable and all you can do is yell at her."

"You've said enough!"

My uncle didn't push it after that, but him defending me just made me angrier, and I didn't know why.

I picked up my guitar, and began to compose.

I heard an alarm, and instantly, my chest tightened. My mother's alarm. She had it set for ten o'clock every night, because she would always fall asleep reading. I made a last note on my music sheet before getting up to go turn it off.

I stared at the alarm for a while after it was off, just remembering her. Then I heard voices.

"I'm so sorry about your wife." The voice was muffled. It was speaker phone.

"Thank you. It's been hard. Brigette's been awful since she heard what happened."

"I heard it was a murder. Is that true?"

There was a brief pause before answering, as if he was contemplating whether or not to tell him. My heart leaped at the word. Murder. I snuck closer to the partially opened door, leaning closer so that I was just barely able to peer inside.

"Yes. It was."

My legs moved on their own after that. I stepped inside the room in clear view.

"It was _murder?_" I exclaimed.

"I'll have to call you back."

He hung up the phone. "My mother was murdered?!"

My eyebrows knitted together and I leaned against the doorknob for support. My knees felt like they would give out any second.

"Yes. She was."

"By who?"

"We're still trying to track who it was. We have no idea right now."

"But… But you'll find out. You're going to find out, right?"

"I think we're going to have to give up the search. There's hardly any evidence."

"What evidence do you have?"

He pulled something from a desk drawer. "This cigar. Manufactured in Japan. Sold only in Japan. You can't even buy them online. Found it at the crime scene."

"Well, that's a lead. That's a huge lead. We know they're from Japan!"

"Someone could have been hired from Japan, and the person who wanted her killed could be anywhere."

"But if we find the mercenary, we can find who it was!"

"The search ends there. We can't keep looking."

"I'll look!" I offered. My father doesn't care who the killer was. He doesn't care about anything except his image. I _had _to look. I had to avenge my mother's death.

"Don't be foolish."

"I'll go to Japan! Please. I haven't ever asked you for anything! Look, I'm really sorry about your stuff, but at least I won't be around. You want that, don't you?"

He gave me a look. "Alright. You can go. But you have to attend school there. I'll provide for all of your expenses to find the killer."

"When do I need to be home?"

"When you find proof about who the killer is. Give it to me and I'll report it to the police."

"When?"

"I can set you up at a private school there, and arrange for your flight to be in the morning."

"What school?"

"Ouran Academy. The cigar is called Oturi Smoke. The son of the owner of that company attends that school. That should help."

"Thank you…Dad."

His eyes narrowed. "Do not call me that. You've only lived with me for three years. I am by no means your father. I want to know who this killer is just as much as you do. If I have an enemy, I need to know who so I can take them down. It's only convenient that you offer to do it for me."

END


	2. Chapter 2

Neverending blue. That's what it was like crossing the ocean. The sky is blue. The water is blue. Not a cloud in the sky. Nothing that could possibly slow this journey across high waters. Cloudless. I wished life was cloudless.

I turned from the window and then shut the cover, so that I would stop searching for land. There was still two hours until the plane landed, and I had already been flying for nine. The flight attendants paid special attention to me, and kept interrupting me to see if everything was alright. I was a minor on an eleven hour plane ride. However, the interruptions only made the flight last longer. Mark Twain and Pixar were the only things that kept me alive on this trip.

I looked back down at the book. 'okay, page one' I said to myself.

I finished the book when the wheels hit the runway. "東京へようこそ" A voice began on the loudspeaker. I couldn't comprehend what he was saying, so I tuned it out until I heard English. "Welcome to Tokyo. There are many sights to see here in this beautiful city. This time of year, we have lots of ski resorts up north that you can check out! Other activities can be found on the brochure you received upon landing. Have a nice day!"

I got off the plane and searched for my name on one of the cards, but it wasn't there. I sat down.

"Brigette Johnson?" a high voice asked. I looked up. "Ah, yes! Hello, I am Renge Houshakuji. I will escort you to the school, and also give you a privately exclusive tour of Ouran Academy! I will also give you a free, VIP pass to see the Host Club backstage, when they are not working!" Her voice dropped and rose in pitch at a quick pace. She also squealed a lot. My first impression of her was not a good one.

She helped me with my one bag and I carried my carry-on. "So why did you transfer all the way from America to Ouran Academy?"

I had already prepared my list of lies if questions were asked. The answer came smoothly from my lips. "My father wanted to introduce me to new cultures from around the world, and he thought Ouran Academy would be the best place to do this."

"Oh, how tragic! Whisked away from the only home you knew to someplace completely unfamiliar. You must be devastated!"

"Not really." I said, brushing her off.

"Of course it must have been! I don't believe you!"

"Who did you say you were again?"

"Renge Houshakuji, manager of the Ouran High School Host Club!"

"That's nice." I dropped my bags in the trunk and the chauffeur pulled onto the freeway. I looked at the city as it flashed past, with its many bright flashing lights. It was just like I had always pictured Tokyo.

"Not just nice! The Host Club is an amazing place where beautiful men entertain beautiful women."

I choked. "Pardon?"

"Where men compliment women in every way that a woman wants to be complimented."

_Japan is weird, _was my first thought. But instead, I said, "And this is a club?" She nodded. "Sounds… Interesting."

"You should swing by after school. First visit's always free and we'll even throw in a free magazine." He shoved the glossy papered book into my hands where blonde boy smiled at me from the cover.

I slipped the book into my bag without another glance "You'll love it here. We've got a private garden, great food in the cafeteria, beautiful campus. And I hear you're staying in the unused master bedroom on the top floor. Ouran academy is the most beautiful school in all of Japan!"

"I'll take your word for it."

She was unhindered by my lack of enthusiasm. "I will give you a personal tour myself!"

"Do you know a student by the name of Kyoya Oturi?" I interrupted, changing the subject.

"Not you too! Trust me, I was engaged to that jerk for a while and he was the worst! Take my word for it. That boy's trouble."

"No, it's not like that! It's just… family ties." I tried to come up with a valid explanation. "My…father… needs some information from his father. I'm the messenger."

She nodded, and was solemn for a moment. "Hey, you're mom died two days ago, right?"

My eyes snapped to hers. "Yeah? What about it?" I said, trying to stay calm.

"I'm so sorry. That's got to be awful."

I pursed my lips. "Yeah. It is."

Her eyes suddenly focused past me, conversation forgotten. She smiled brightly. "Here we are. The wonderful school of Ouran Academy."

I turned to where she had pointed. The school loomed before, tall and strong, but still haunting. My father proposed to Mom as soon as the press found out that he had a daughter. Mom and I both knew there was no love involved, but we were on the brink of poverty, and she thought I could make it big with the studio time I would get if the owner was my legal father. She did it for me, and now she's gone. She probably would still be here if she hadn't married him. But I had only been with him for four years. I grew up in small schools for the majority of my life. As I looked at Ouran, I had to wonder how big the classrooms were, and how many rooms were actually in the building. I was almost in awe, but to me, it still looked like just a giant prison.

"What do think?" Renge asked.

"Just how I pictured it." I said sarcastically, but she didn't catch it. I was starting to think she heard every other word I said.

Once we got to the top floor, floor six, she dropped my bags with a big sigh. "Man, what do you carry in there!"

"My entire life." I murmured, turning my face away.

"Just leave your bags up here. No one comes up to the sixth floor anyway so it should be fine. Plus, we don't have any kleptos at this school. No one would dare risk their spot at head of the family business."

She started at the first floor. "Here is the main hall where students gather during recess and breaks between classes, this is the dining hall, for food and socializing. Right here we have the English language class, for the few students who never learned. By the way, can you speak Japanese."

"I leaned Spanish. LA is right next to Mexico."

"Well, lucky for you, most of the students are fluent in both English and Japanese at this school, as well as French, Russian, and even Latin.

"Neat." I said, and I was honestly impressed. I can barely speak Spanish at all. All I can do is basic conversation, and that's only if the conversation is spoken incredibly slowly. To think all of these students are already fluent. They must have high expectations.

"As you can see, we wear uniforms at this school. I'm sure you have one waiting for you in your room. And here is the student council room." She knocked on the partially opened the door, and then opened it completely. I pursed my lips as she pulled me in behind her.

"Hello, everyone! Sorry to interrupt but I wanted to introduce you to the newest member of your class, Brigette Johnson!" She squealed.

A boy in dark hair and glasses stood up and approached me. He extended his hand and bowed to me. I stared at him a moment, then moved to shake his hand. I pulled it away though, when he raised it to his lips, quickly wiping it on my jeans.

"Hello, there." I took a small step back.

My rejection didn't hinder him in the slightest. He pushed up his glasses and looked at me unnervingly. "Hello. My name is Kyoya Otori. And may I say I've found that your voice caresses the air in the gentlest way." The girls sitting in the seats behind him sighed dramatically, leaning closer with every word.

"Uh… thanks…" I answered, not sure what to say.

Renge quickly grabbed my arm. "Yeah, yeah. Come on Brigette, I need to show you the rest of the school. There's still loads to see: The private garden, the courtyard, the gym, the—,"

I snapped my hand back and turned back to the boy. "Did you say your name was Kyoya _Otori?_"

"Yes, I did. Why do you ask?"

"As in Otori Smoke?"

His eyebrows furrowed down in confusion. "Yes…"

I smiled sweetly. "Do you mind giving me a tour of the school. I'm sure you know it better than she does."

"But—I'm giving her a tour of the school! That's not fair!"

He bowed his head. "Of course. I'd be honored." He draped an arm over my shoulder, which made me tense, but I didn't step away until the screaming Renge was out of sight.

He guided me through the ground floor and then out into the courtyard. There was no one there. I grabbed his arm and he stopped mid-sentence.

I bit my nail for a moment.

"Yes?"

"I—So your parents run Otori Smoke, right?"

"As well as a private police force of one hundred men and hospitals all over Asia. Why do you ask?

He looked at me oddly. I put my hands in the air. "No—It's not what you're thinking. I don't want a cigar!"

"I did not immediately assume that you wanted a cigar."

"You gave me a weird look…"

"I was merely wondering why a beautiful and refined young lady such as yourself would ask about my family's cigar company," He responded dramatically.

"Uh…Right…" I pulled the Ziploc bagged cigar out of my purse. "My… father was asking for some information on this cigar. He bought it online, and wanted to know more about it…"

"That's weird. We only sell directly to the buyer, no middle man, and I know our cigar company is strictly Japanese. We make no international sales with this specific brand."

"Oh… No, he got it from a friend, but now he's running into immigration trouble, so he needs to know the license number of the buyer, and he can't get a hold of his friend… so do you think you can get it for me. I'll deliver the information to him."

He pulled out a thinkpad and began tapping the keyboard rapidly… I think I found the person you're looking for… What was your father's friend's name again?"

"He… didn't tell me?"

He met my eyes and pushed up his glasses. "Your father didn't tell you his name?"

"No… He didn't think it was necessary…"

He sighed. "I am truly sorry, but clientel is strictly private. But if it is truly necessary, you can take the issue to my father, the head of the Otori business."

"But isn't it right there on the screen, just let me look at it." I reached for the thinkpad in his hand. He dropped it smoothly back into his bag before my hand closed around it. "You'll have to take this up with my father.

"But…" I became desperate. "Well… The real reason my father is so attached to the cigar is because…" I quickly lied, making it up as I went along. "It was a gift to him from my mom… and not that she's gone… It's the last thing he got from her… It's important to him." By the end, I was a little proud of the lie.

"I'm sorry to hear about that, but client information is strictly private. You'll have to take this up with my father."

"Oh, come on—," I began to beg.

"I am truly sorry."

I glowered at him, then smiled fakely. "Thank you for the tour." I stormed past him.

_Well, that was no help,_ I thought. _ Time to get the intel by force…_


End file.
